CHAPTER 114 – THE STONE CITY AND THE SUN GOD FALLS
The X-Men crouched low on a ridge, jungle heat steaming off their bodies as they stared down at the impossible city. It rose like a jagged crown in the middle of the green, spires of stone gleaming lifelessly in the sun.
Logan's ear twitched. His whole body stiffened.
"Hold," he growled, nostrils flaring. "Somethin's comin'."
The team froze. Storm tilted her head. "I hear nothing."
"That's 'cause you don't got radar in your ears, darlin'," Logan muttered. He pointed upward. "Flappin'. Big wings. East quadrant, high."
He narrowed his eyes, zooming in with unnatural precision — and saw them. Riders on leathery pterosaurs, spears gleaming, circling in for an ambush.
"Company's droppin' in," he said with a feral grin. "Hope you brought your Sunday punch."
The pterosaurs screeched, diving. Cyclops barked the order: "X-Men — fan out!"
Energy erupted skyward. Sunfire's flames seared the air, forcing one rider to spiral out of control. Banshee screamed a sonic wave that shattered another's mount mid-dive. Logan lunged, claws flashing, carving through a pterosaur's wing so both rider and beast tumbled into the jungle below.
Nightcrawler bamfed into the saddle of another, grabbed the screaming rider by the tunic, and vanished in a puff of brimstone — reappearing ten feet above the ground so the poor fool crashed into the dirt.
Within minutes, the ambush was rubble and silence. The survivors fled shrieking into the horizon.
Logan sheathed his claws with a snikt, his ears still twitching. "They'll warn the city. We gotta move quick. Quiet."
Cyclops nodded. "We'll take the tunnels. Everyone stay sharp."
The stone sewers smelled of mold and damp rot, their walls slick. Logan led the way, crouched, ears swiveling at every drip and shuffle, nose twitching.
"Clear. Clear. Left fork's a dead end — smells like it ain't been touched in years. Keep right."
His voice was curt, steady, every sense stretched to breaking. Not once did the team trip an alarm.
Hours later, they climbed through the last grate and emerged at the base of the great dome. Through slits in the stone, they saw him: Garokk. The Sun God sat on his throne of granite, veins glowing faintly orange, Zaladane and her priests chanting at his feet.
Logan spat into the dirt. "Big ugly rock freak sittin' like he owns the world. I say we cut him down to size."
"On my mark," Cyclops whispered, visor glowing.
The fight began in fire and thunder.
---
The dome erupted into chaos.
Cyclops's optic blasts lanced across the chamber, smashing soldiers back. Sunfire rained fire from above, his flame cutting through the priest ranks. Nightcrawler bamfed between columns, striking fast and vanishing before counterattacks landed.
Logan tore straight down the middle, snarling, claws slashing through stone shields and spears alike. Every movement was guided by instinct, soul-scent showing him where fear lived in the soldiers' chests, bullet-time reflexes letting him dodge strikes that would've skewered anyone else.
"Outta my way, tin men!" he roared, carving through three at once.
Thunderbird and Colossus slammed side by side into a phalanx, fists and steel muscles scattering foes like twigs. Banshee screamed a shockwave overhead, collapsing balconies and cutting off reinforcements.
But Garokk rose, magma veins pulsing brighter. He raised a hand — and a wall of stone spears jutted from the floor, skewering the air in a deadly forest. The X-Men scattered, barely escaping impalement.
"X-MEN!" Cyclops shouted, visor blazing wide. "On me!"
He charged, beam roaring full-power, colliding with Garokk's sunfire glare. The two beams met midair, shaking the chamber, molten cracks splitting through the stone floor.
"Fall, mortal!" Garokk's voice shook the walls.
"Not… today!" Cyclops strained, sweat running down his face, visor trembling with overload.
The clash rumbled through the city. The dome above cracked, groaning. Dust rained down.
Then — collapse. Both beams shattered, exploding the dais. Cyclops and Garokk plunged into the black shaft beneath.
Sunfire dove like a comet, snatching Cyclops by the arm and blasting upward, teeth gritted. He barely cleared the shaft before stone sealed behind him.
Storm darted forward, lightning crackling from her hands, eyes blazing white. "GAROKK!"
She dove into the shaft, winds screaming around her, following the glow of the falling god. She caught him, her hand grasping his granite wrist. The instant they touched—
A scream.
Storm's vision filled with Garokk's nightmare: buried alive, endless stone, dying alone in eternal dark. It resonated with her deepest wound — the tomb, the darkness, the fear of being buried alive that haunted her since childhood.
Her body convulsed. She felt his terror as her own. Her grip slipped.
"No… no, not like this—"
Her last glimpse was Garokk's stone face vanishing into the abyss, eyes wide, swallowed by the dark.
Storm clawed her way upward, gasping, pale. She staggered out of the shaft, clutching her chest, her back turned to the team. Her hands trembled.
"Ororo—" Cyclops moved toward her.
Logan's arm shot out, blocking him. His face was grim.
"Don't," he said. "I can smell it. She ain't hurt outside… she's hurt in here." He tapped his chest.
The others stared, confusion and worry etched on their faces.
Logan's voice dropped. "She was supposed to save him. But he's gone. And now she's stuck with it. Let her breathe. Let her bleed it out on her own."
Storm didn't turn, didn't speak. She only stared into the distance, silent, her sorrow and fear hanging like stormclouds.
The dome cracked louder overhead. The city itself was crumbling.
Logan lit a cigar with shaking hands, blew smoke, and muttered, "Gods fall the same as anyone else. And it always leaves a mess."
The city groaned, ready to bury them next.